Every hallway.
Every staircase.
Every portrait.
After leading us through a few more turns, Josiah led us down a hallway with a set of stained-glass doors at the end. He opened them wide, allowing us to enter the sanctuary.
But it wasn’t like any church or chapel I’d ever been in. It may have had a few rows of pews and ornate stained-glass windows, but that was where the similarities ended. The altar didn’t feel like a place to pay homage to God. It seemed like a place of sacrifice. Of penance.
Of correction.
And as I followed the procession of women down the aisle before forming a line in front of the altar, I knew that was precisely what it was.
Because kneeling on the altar was a hooded figure.
Large.
Motionless.
Restrained.
Every nerve in my body lit on fire, panic clawing at me. I stole a glance up the line of women, meeting Sarah’s eyes once more. She didn’t look frightened or surprised. More resigned than anything else. Like she already knew what was going on. Or worse, she’d seen it before.
I looked forward once more, studying the hooded figure. Something about him seemed familiar.
Broad shoulders.
Sculpted arms.
Scraped knuckles.
Just like Henry…
I fought to swallow down the sob that nearly escaped at the thought, my heart hammering so violently I was confident it was about to burst out of my chest.
It couldn’t be Henry. No way. Josiah removed the tracker. Henry had no idea where I was. Josiah taunted me with that information last night.
But Henry was smart. So was Blake. Like I’d told Sarah… He’d stop at nothing to find us and bring us home.
My stomach churned at the thought. As desperate as I was for Henry to put an end to all of this, I didn’t want it to be like this. I had a taste of what kind of monster Josiah was last night. If that was Henry bound and kneeling with a hood over his head, I could only imagine what kind of “correction” he might be forced to endure.
Josiah moved gracefully to the front of the chapel, positioning himself behind the hooded man like a pastor preparing to deliver a sermon.
“My lambs,” he began softly, his arms extended wide once more. “This man entered our sanctuary with violence in his heart.”
His tone was calm. Measured.
That somehow made it worse.
“He believes your bodies belong to men like him. Men who take. Men who covet. Men who poison.”
He paced slowly along the altar, his hands clasped behind him.
“Tell me, my lambs…” His dark eyes swept across us, all dressed in white like the lambs he called us. “How many of you were harmed by men before God brought you here?”
“I was,” a voice answered immediately, stepping out of line.
It was the woman I saw earlier at Josiah’s side.
